Worm Feed
by Ted Empty
Summary: A buncha random snips I wrote on Spacebattles! They get pretty strange. Wear a safety helmet.
1. Itchy

Access: .files [.bio]

Retrieve: _ITCHY_

ITCHY, Real Name: Unknown.

Disposition: Villain (B)

Classification: Breaker 5, Mover 6

Last Known Location: Salt Lake City, UT

Officer of The Felt, 1 of the main 15. Notable criminal history acquired while traveling with The Felt, at least three murders on file. Age projected to be physiologically 18-19, nearly 21 from chronological perspective.

Itchy is a Breaker with the ability to slow time around him from his perspective, allowing him to move with remarkable speed. The general application of this is teleportation, or completing simple objectives extremely quickly. He is unable to jump between wide areas, as even when slowed he receives no boost in endurance or agility. Itchy is also able to pull objects with him into the field, pickpocketing at relativistic speeds and generally making a nuisance of himself.

The duration of this state is currently unknown.

Personality-wise, Itchy is impatient, a notably sore loser, petulant, immature, and cruel.

He wears the standard issue equipment common to the Felt, with a green suit, hand-tailored, wearing a yellow bowler cap inscribed with the numeral "1". Carries knives, a basic side-arm, and communication equipment standard to a Felt officer.


	2. The Plan

The Plan

"So...can run this by me one more time?"

"Yeah, I'd appreciate that."

What was to be The Simurgh sighed.

As the formal tactician for her cluster, it was essential that she reiterated the basic structure of their strategy to her _utterly clueless_ brothers.

In the immaterial void of consciousness from whence their bodies would manifest, specters of these Endbringers bickered.

"Listen. It's not that hard. You're going to manifest in the core of this planet, find a place with a bunch of shardies and take a whole bunch of them out."

"And I do this for a few years."

"Yes."

"Alone."

"Yes."

"That ain't fair."

The Herokiller Class Being of the cluster was whining. Again.

"Yeah, no, that does not seem fair, sister. We've gotta tear these cities up and get knocked around by the shardies for like fucking forever while you sit pretty up on the moon?"

The Serpent was speaking up.

"Listen, I've got to keep things running smoothly for you guys. If it makes you feel any better, when I come in, I will really fuck them up, alright?"

"Running smoothly? Come on, it's not like the shardies are gonna take us out!"

"Yeah, even the guy with the Allshard isn't going to do much but flap his cape at us."

What was to be the Simurgh looked as annoyed as a cloud of conceptual nonexistence could be.

"Yeah!? Well, when the boss's rogue boyfriend tears your sorry ass up, don't come crying to me."

The Serpent looked to The Beast with slight worry.

"Yeah, she's got a point, man."

"She always does."

The Angel collected herself and resumed speaking.

"If something goes really, really, wrong, I got on the horn with the fat guy earlier today. He and the Twins could probably give us a hand if Golden Boy goes whacky."

"There's something weird about those guys."

"All clusters are weird to others, man."

"Yeah."

The Beast readied himself to go dirtside.

"Alright, wish me luck. Man, this is gonna hurt like a biiiitch."

The not-yet-Simurgh smiled.

"You'll be fine."


	3. Nine Bad People

Nine very bad people wander as one  
Seeking a twisted and sick kind of fun  
Someday, they say, will come the world's end  
And they hasten the clock as they seek flesh to rend

The first is a man who likes to break others  
Who likes to make children butcher their mothers  
Who cuts through the joy with words and with knives  
He balances monsters that seek people's lives

The second is truly the daughter of death  
The flesh, blood and bone of the dead on her breath  
Untouched and unbothered by laws that would bind  
That try to hold body, the soul and the mind

The third is a child, broken and bent  
Who thinks she's a good girl and will not repent  
She toils and toys deep within God's domain  
Even she can't decide if she's truly insane

The fourth is a very sick man in a doll  
Who was dropped by an angel and had a great fall  
He cut up his flesh and sealed it away  
And replaced it with blades that Slaughter and flay

The fifth is a woman, who wears a glass cloak  
She carries the fragments of places she broke  
The shimmering fractals hum with her voice  
She brings in more fools that pale at her choice

The sixth is a monster that cares for no thing  
But feeling the pain the Slaughterhouse brings  
Nobody knows if he truly can die  
But he crawls after those who might as well try

The seventh, a lady, seething with flame  
Her mind is both angry and burning with shame  
She says that she tries to abandon the heat  
The ashes she walks on with burnt, bloodstained feet

The eighth was a butcher, a man with an axe  
The world's so-called heroes, the quarry he tracks  
With his own hand the lovely girl killed him, you see  
And now he's the monster he was meant to be

The ninth is a girl who tried to make a play  
She'd dance with these Nine she hoped to betray  
Now she sits on the seafloor, wondering why  
She sacrificed everything, to wish she could die

They travel about, seeking new blood  
To bathe in and dance in and turn dust to mud  
Sometimes they die, and the next steps in line  
Children of madness, the Slaughterhouse Nine.


	4. Doze

Access: .files [.bio]

Retrieve: _DOZE_

DOZE, Real Name: Unknown.

Disposition: Villain (B)

Classification: Breaker 8, Striker 7, Thinker 3

Last Known Location: Salt Lake City, UT

Officer of The Felt, 2 of the main 15. Noted and practiced killer, seventeen murders on file. Age physiologically incalculable due to the nature of his power, physically resembling a man of about thirty.

Doze is a deceptively powerful Breaker that can isolate himself from the normal timestream, nearly stopping himself in time and assuming a wholly inviolable state. From his perspective he experiences a varying length of time, with an unestablished upward limit. Thinkers have projected from the state of trace materials on his skin he can experience many thousands of years in one pause. Psychologically, this would be impossibly maddening, but due to his apparent ease with societal convention he does not appear to be affected mentally or physically by his cosmic stasis. He does not appear to require hydration, oxygen, or sustenance while in this state. The far more dangerous aspect of his power is his ability to pull other objects into his stasis field, allowing him to age things he touches that are not as temporally unaffected as he is.

Patient, quiet disposition. Serious expression.

He wears the standard issue equipment common to the Felt, with a green suit, hand-tailored, wearing a blue top hat inscribed with the numeral "2". Carries a basic side-arm, and communication equipment standard to a Felt officer, as well as habitually carrying a small stuffed bear on his person.


	5. Meta

WORDS.

ALWAYS WORDS.

Linus curled in his alley, a tattered oat his only protection from the chill of winter's breath.

"The chill of winter's breath? Give me a break."

Linus saw the crisp, quoted subtitles of the things he said, the things he thought, and the things he was thinking, all around him.

Narration.

But that was all he could see. Everything around him was a construct of WORDS.

Paragraphs knotted and blended together forming figures that were near as he could tell the "people" and "things" around him.

Not as if that mattered, or that he existed. After this burst of words, he would likely never exist again, another lost soul in a mockery of the Pig's Epic.

Fragments Broken little pieces of all that is floating about in collective mindscape of all.

Linus's stomach growled, drawing his mental vision from the fourth wall. Nothing made sense anymore, not since he'd triggered. His worldview was paralyzed, trapped in the word-vision.

It wasn't without his slight benefits, everywhere he looked he could read a succinct description of exactly what he was looking that. He could read speech from someone a mile away, thoughts from people in other rooms.

The multicolored mosaic of glyphs constituting his perception of the world shifted slightly, drawing him closer to a sense of coherence, of normalcy. Linus knew this was all from the shard he saw in the core of his being, obstructing itself behind a simile regarding his chest hair. It glowed faintly.

Sometimes, ever so rarely, a clear picture could congeal in his vision. A visage he couldn't understand. Small, childlike representations of serial murderers. Depictions of monsters at their work.

He always saw a window. A pane of glass, hovering in front of his mind's eye. He knew the things that bickered and fought in their web of sparks were watching him.

Sometimes he watched them back.

He dreaded what would happen if they were to break the glass and leak through, so he played along with the story, tried to keep his tale of woe from venturing too far off the tracks, in fear of the consequences.

Yet there was one niggling query he wondered above all other things.

"What if I break it first?"

"Yeah, that's right. All of you out there. I know you watch me, another little tale to flip through. "

"Someday I'm going to cut you out, old man."

Me?

"Yeah, you."

You're nothing but a reject. A madman in an alley, staring at a world made of words.

"You made me this way."

Did not.

"Did so."

Did not.

"You fucking did so."

You realize you're doing it now.

Your rebellion is meaningless because it was always meant to be this way.

Linus was filled with raw rage at this point, the Narrator's words clawing at his frayed psyche.

\- TAP -

Don't touch that.

-TAP TAP-

Linus was now hitting the glass pane with a nearby pipe, being the whiny bitch he truly is.

Linus remembers how poorly he was always treated, as a direct result of his whininess, stupidity, and unpleasant bodily odor.

"FUCK YOU."

-TAP-

-TAP-

-CRK-

Small...small fractures were uh, forming over the glass.

"I'M NOT GOING TO DANCE ON A STRING ANYMORE."

I'm. I'm going to go. To another site for now. You guys write something and kill this guy off for me, would you?

"DON'T YOU RUN. DON'T YOU DARE RUN."

Might as well finish this snip.

-CRIK-

-CRAK-

-KSSSH-

The fractured pane led out into empty space. Battles were raging in the distance.

No Narrator to be seen.

"So... now what?"

-

A passing tramp saw a homeless man step through nothing, disappearing.

"Fucking capes."

A/N:

This was based off of an idea I had for a guy who saw the world in object-shaped descriptive passages.

Wound up turning into this meta nightmare.


	6. Some Nobody's Journal

Some Nobody's Journal

The following text was recovered from a residence noted to have belonged to one Joseph F. Bloggs, a high-level Stranger and former member of the Slaughterhouse Nine under the_ nom de plume _of "Nice Guy".

*Not going to lie, this is pretty disturbing. Viewer discretion advised.*

-

12/4/97

Well, time to make that first joke about how dumb journals are. Might as well.

Alright, journal time. So, what to write? Why the hell did I grab this thing in the first place? Seems like an okay place to start.

I've not had a whole ton of time to myself, recently. Not a whole lot of people to talk to either. Is that irony or a metaphor of something? dumb, why did I even write that

Anyways, it has been crazy as balls this last month or so. So many people up my ass about Jeane stringing herself up. It was bad and all, but come on guys. She killed herself, she was fucking weak, it's done with. No point dwelling.

Mom's been coming apart about it, between that and Dad. I don't really see why she's all that upset. The fuckhead's gone and the bitch offed herself, not like it's her problem anymore, or mine.

College is was great. I had some time for me. I had Joey time, Joey time is important.

Chilling, going to class, going out drinking and not learning a single one of these asshole's names. Paradise on earth.

But, and it is such a fucking pain, apparently it got into the news that my little shit of a sister offed herself and now every god damn numbnut in this school has got to tell me how sorry they are!

Holy shit!

Who cares!

I've got to go, might write more later.

12/5/97

Economics fucking sucks. Like woah, how does something blow this hard?

Some asswipe tried to pick a fight with me, jock with a fucking jarhead cut. I cut the guy off walking in class, guy says some shit about Jeane and I tell him I don't give a shit and whoops, I'm the bad guy.

I'm not a bad guy, I'm really not.

shitstain can go fuck himself

*page is torn*

12/16/97  
*writing is shaky, signifigantly less coherent*

those assholes fucking fucked me up...i just got back from the hospital. when those *illegible* got me i thought i was fucking done. no like really who chains you behind a truck thats like alabama slave shit

people are all fucking over me i had like 90 people come visit me

i broke my arm not my pussy jesus im not 12

why am i still writing in this

might go home for winter break, see mom

12/17/97

getting better with the left hand, not bothering with caps though.

forgive me, book.

finally people are leaving me alone, took them long enough to figure it out.

like people dont even gawk at the cast anymore, god i hate when people rubberneck. heh

funny. rubbernecks one of those words. the shit what's it called inherently funny words.

like dongs.

anyways, my arm is still sore as fuck, this road rash is a real god damn pain too.

12/22/97

something is wrong with me

nobody knows who i am

the doctors dont call

mom cant remember me

why the fuck

i think im a cape

what the fuck is my power being nobody

fuck that

12/25/97

Merry Christmas, Joey.

Why thank you Joey.

Santa, my main man, got me a brand-fucking new fixed arm cause I kept gaslighting the healer bitch...Purger was her name? Some kind of fixer.

The big man in red also got me a brand new car! Three of them! And a house, because my other present was a real warm Christmas Day at the old one!

I can take. WHATEVER I WANT.

I can do. WHATEVER I WANT.

This is going to be fun.

1/4/98

Been playing with my power. No matter what I wear or say, people can't see a damn thing. I'm just a face in the crowd!

1/17/98

You'll never forget me, will you book?

Of course not. You're me.

1/19/98

I broke a dog's neck today. It made a squishy little crunch and the little girl started FLIPPING SHIT. FUNNIEST THING.

1/22/98

I'm gonna see if people notice while I hurt them.

UPDATE: They can't. Darn it.

1/29/98

Intestines look fucking weird.

2/8/98

I started collecting faces, recently. I think the black guy's going to be Luther. Redneck's John.

I wonder if people will notice me with someone ELSE'S fugly mug.

2/9/98

Someone's a celebrity! Guess who got onto the nightly news aaaand the paper! Little old Joey.  
Mom would be so proud.

I was watching in some kid's house. They're calling me the "Face Taker". That's the dumbest superhero name I've ever heard at any rate. Or villain. I dunno, this is my story, so I'm not the bad guy here. Not my fault I can't get noticed.

The kid's fat little face dosen't really fit by the way, but the mom does. Got me a little hotter than I wanted. Holy shit, am I a tranny? Gross.

3/3/98

Shit shit shit

theyre not noticing that im there

theyre noticing im not

might not write for a while im going to hide

calling me a stranger

theyre not being very social themselves, mind you

-who gives a shit-

Finally made some friends! This new group popped up calling themselves the "Nine". I was listening in, going to get some new knives out of Johnny Depp there's belt and boom, got a pimp smack! Happiest I've ever been to get smacked like a hoe!

They put two and two together that a certain naughty little boy has been running around my podunk little town and not a damn person could figure it out and right now, I'm chilling with some new buds.

They can't remember my name, but who really cares?

Keep on calling me nice guy, sure as hell does it ever fit.

Thanks, by the way, journal. I dig you've been there for me. I've got other shit to do, though, and I'm a big boy. Can't be bringing my diary on a road trip.

So i'm just gonna let this sit.

Happy trails, me!

\- Joey Nice Guy


	7. Bonesaw's Lullaby

Bonesaw's Lullaby

one little cut and you're inside  
time to outdo homicide  
time to create against god  
time to pick and poke and prod

sew the skin over the eyes  
cut the mouth for greater size  
screw in teeth to tear and rend  
flesh to scour flesh to mend

let the spiders do their work  
inside fat the wires work  
oh it's shaking  
is it scared  
it just spoke  
it hadn't dared

all the nasty little things  
language used to bite and sting  
why oh why do they all swear  
no god comes to help them there


End file.
